Interwoven
by Darkhymns
Summary: Taken place just before the Twins trilogy. In order to achieve true power, Raistlin must cast aside the lich inside. But as he recalls his past decisions, his thoughts turn to the powerful wizard of the past, as well as the twin he had left in the end.


**To the Dragonlance fandom: The series of books that I love. :)**

**This will be my first story submitted here, a oneshot about the beloved Raistlin Majere. This came off the top ofmy head suddenly. I've written other oneshots for Dragonlance which I may post one day. This one focuses on the relationship between Raistlin and Fistandantilus mostly, but also somtimes go to Caramon, because I can't resist. All may review, for it shows me that you read this ficlet, but it is all in your hands. But just look at the pretty button in the bottom, you know you can't resist it...**

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_**Interwoven  
**__By Darkhymns_

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I've always felt it, ever since then. It had become a part of my days, my nights, but most especially my nightmares. Because I knew there was something there, watching me closely, breathing down my neck. And sometimes, for a split second, I could see the face.

I turn over my shoulder. Nothing. Yet it is there. I know. Because the mocking laughter is around me, always in the darkness. Only now, when my calling has come forth and the magic flows inside me as freely as the blood in my veins do I know what it was that felt so close to me.

Him. That old-aged wizard. Fistandantilus.

How the long name just rolls off the tongue. An intriguing name of power.

I was never surprised when I first realized his existence and his purpose for helping me. I had known it all along, at least subconsciously. Our spirits are intertwined, a bond so tight that if one breaks, the other was destined for the same fate. A balance of dependency for one another.

But he, Fistandantilus, was taking. He chose me for my ambition, my strength that he saw in me. His plan to come to this time, in my place.

The Master of Past and Present.

Him of the past, me of the present. Thus combined, we become one. Different times coalesced.

Past and Present. The parasite and the victim.

I only keep up this pretense for now. The lich slowly takes away but unaware, I take in return, drawing our powers from each. But we need each other for this is a matter of dependency.

How I detest that word.

I am not on my own for I still need. I require his power to survive, to hold up this walking pile of bones stringed together just barely. Each throat-rasping cough reminds me of this, as the blood stains my handkerchief and my golden fingers clench.

I have power but only with him. I still cling to another in weakness.

Just like with Caramon.

It was only a matter of exchange. Trading my oafish lout of a brother to a black robe of limitless strength.

I have not grown.

But the irony in this, is that he needs me just as much. Such as the first time, I would have given anything to acquire such power, such respect, such fear.

Yes, especially fear.

No mage ever leaves the Test unscathed. Either physically or mentally, they are changed. He had changed me. That Fistandantilus. He promised me this and more. All I had to do was let him live inside me. A lich. At first I refused, not wanting to be a victim.

But, would I rather choose failure instead?

All my life I was second-rate. I could never be accepted, the Sly One, the outsider. My eyes could always pierce through a lie in an instant, these eyes that make others squirm. People jeered at me, teased me for all my life. I had never gotten respect or liked for who I was. Caramon thought he understood me, his 'little brother,' and would give me his suffocating love.

Sometimes I was feared, but not respected.

You need power for that.

I looked into that face of the phantom mage, wrinkles lining his cruel, mocking face, mouth stretched up in a smile. He knew the answer.

I never regretted it.

But a price to pay was clearly adamant.

I let myself get taken, the golden skin becoming my armor. Spells flowed easily through my mind, and that strength that I had long been searching for showed itself for me. The magic was mine.

And Caramon took it from me.

At least, I thought he did.

I felt that fire broil hot, that fire that infested inside me since birth, that yearning for something that I needed. The magic was the calling, using it to engulf him. Caramon. Screaming, crying for me.

The illusion felt very real.

Fistandantilus came for me as the image of my brother wilted away. Now he comes to take.

_If your armor is made of dross, I will find the crack._

But no, I would not be a puppet to this master. It would not be that way. When his hand plunged inside me, already the merging taking event, I grabbed the wrist.

And he is frightened, that his victim was fighting back.

I would not be his servant.

My body was frail ever since, much than it was before. The balance between us had begun.

I had no memory of that bargain. Trading myself for power. But I remember that other very well.

Caramon's death. By my hands.

He had seen it. He thinks he understands. He fears me. And that is my only solace when I lean on him for support.

Another event, I turned to Fistandantilus once more.

Back at the cursed forests of Silvanesti, where the trees twisted and writhed beyond comprehension, the woodland creatures screaming in the dark torment of the nights of their home, and where dreams become reality.

I remember him there. There he offered me strength, in order to save them all. My companions, not truly friends.

Caramon was too weak, almost pitiful, now that I think about it. He clutched his arm at the spot where the arrow struck.

I saw his face there once again. A wizened face with piercing eyes, beard flowing from his chin. His black robes enveloped him, darker than the night.

I had to, in order to save them from this nightmare. In order to save myself.

My red robes slowly darkened. Their eyes widened from the transformation, especially Caramon's own whose expanded to the size of dinner plates.

There was fear in them.

I must admit, it was satisfying to witness that. The robust twin a coward to his sickly brother.

Fistandantilus gave me his own, but there is always a price as usual.

I had paid it ten-fold.

The magic surrounded me, and now I could walk with ease. Caramon leaned on me this time. I had strength, I had power.

But it is _his_ strength. I can hear him laughing in the recesses of my soul. Interwoven.

When Caramon no longer had strength to walk, he begged for us to stop. His stamina had faded, only a little rest he needs. The dead elven warriors stood before us but dare not come close. My magic served as a barrier and they fear it, for they know that I can crumble their bones to dust in the wind.

I must go farther, but my twin cannot move. The choice was obvious.

The second time comes.

I left him as he pleaded for me to stay. But the pathway to power lies ahead. I cannot have any hindrances.

_How does it feel, my brother, to at last be weak?_

Fistandantilus promises me power, and I would pay the price. It does not matter. The magic is my only blessing, and I would do it all over again.

Caramon cried as the undead warriors came for him, empty mouths gaping. Their slender swords cutting through his flesh and I could hear his screams -even now- full of sadness and betrayal.

I never looked back, the future is of more importance.

It was a second time, and yet my twin stayed by my side. He still believes he understands.

He even pities me.

I cannot take this. Perhaps by the third time, he finally knew. Leaving him to drown in the Blood Sea, and I can remember the look in his eyes as I left.

Does he finally understand now? That this time, not in illusions or in dreams but, finally, in reality, that I truly betrayed him?

Sometimes I do wonder…

But back then, my mind did not settle on such issues. That road to glory lay ahead of me, what Fistandantilus promised me.

In the Library of Palanthas, when Astinus the Chronicler unwittingly told me of the Keys, my mind clicked for now I knew how I could achieve my life-long dream of power. I laid dying among leaflets of parchment, my malady too much to bear. I called him forth, my throat rasped with burning pain, the blood clotting thickly.

Because if I die, he loses.

_You must save me in order to save yourself._

I could feel his hesitation. He fears, but it is the only way.

I fell to the marbled floor, my strength waned.

He helps. He concedes. Magic comes to my body, rejuvenating, beautiful and pure.

He had obeyed.

I smiled for I found the crack.

Of course, I do not need him. Because this strength is mine. He and I are one. But now is the time for me to walk on my own. I am already forming my plans in this dark tower that is my home. The wizards of the Tower Of Wayreth suspects me. Even the Head of the Wizards, Par-Salian who had cursed me with these hourglass eyes.

These eyes that only see death. But he fears.

And soon the world will as well.

Fistandantilus, so arrogant of a mage, does not know of what I plan to do. To take his place, his power and then, finally, stand alone as the true master.

He and I are so similar; ambitious, fueled by our love for the magic, and we loathe our immortality.

Which is why he lives in me, so that Death will never claim him.

But he shall fail, while I succeed. For I have already found a way to beat Death.

So much that the Gods themselves fear me.

I will stand alone, while Fistandantilus withers and becomes a servant to _me._

For I, Raistlin Majere, Archmagus, have found the crack in his armor. And I will not fail.

I will not. And _that_ is a promise I intend to keep.


End file.
